


Never Let Them Go

by alyyks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fives' Arc aftermath, GFY, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The GAR barracks on Coruscant are too still. It's even worse when Kix can count the empty bunks and put names in the space left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Them Go

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [alyyks.tumblr](http://alyyks.tumblr.com/post/122433510793), from a reply from [sildae](https://sildae.tumblr.com/) that took a life of its own: "*die* The first time Rex crashes with them, Fives had been gone for a week. Rex is silent, and Kix knows better than to ask. The others talk. Just... talk. Ten minutes, Kix notices the captain's tension break, then his breathing slow. /sry"

They don’t see Rex in the barracks on Coruscant for a week. Sure, he’s there, and they’ve got their orders and inspections and drills and training and there’s the omnipresent “get ready to get back shipside” but _Rex_ ’s not _here_. He’s not in the middle of them. He has his own cabin on the ship, rank privileges, but since Umbara he took to sleeping in the same space as Torrent more often than not. All of Torrent prefers it that way—they do closing ranks better than anybody. The bunks in the barracks, regardless of where said bunks are, are _their_ space. There’s no Jedi, little order, just brothers. Rex’s not “Captain Rex of the 501st” when he’s there in the middle, he’s their brother who needs sleep and the reassurance of hearing breathing through the night as much as any of them. 

Their barracks are more silent than ever during the off-shift.

Tup’s not here. 

Fives’s not here. 

And their names join a long—too long—list of brothers who’ll never be there again, who’ll never stand shoulder to shoulder under a firefight again, who’ll never be whispering in the barrack during off-shift again or spar in the gym or sing in the shower when they have them or be a pain in the ass or save someone with a shot or—

And Tup’s and Five’s names join that long list but it’s different too, because there are talks of what happened and everyone has heard at least twenty different versions of the events and only Rex knows, only Rex was there and he’s not _here_ —

Kix wonders and worries and wants to track their captain down. There’s more than one type of injury (even if no-one wants to talk about it, even if they’re supposed to be made better than that, even if, _even if_ , and he’s just a field medic and he’s not a fucking idiot and he can read medical journals about psychology and sometimes the _wonder and worry_ goes straight to pure, deep anger, and on those days Jesse has to take the lead and direct him and remind him he’s _here_ )

Kix wonders and worries and it’d be easier if they had _something_ to do. Drills and training do not count. Downtime doesn't count—there's ony so many times a man can go to 79's and enjoy it. Coruscant sounds wrong, both too quiet and never silent. And Kix knows where that comes from, three years of Outer Rim and screams and battle fields and mud and droids ready for take-down like holographic targets bam-bam-bam. 

It’s too quiet in the barracks.

He can hear Jesse, in the bunk below him, hears him mutter quietly in his sleep like he does sometimes. Kix has line of sight to the door and five other bunks—four of those empty, the brothers’ name on that long list. He stares at the ceiling and worries and wonders and he can feel the acid of that anger rolling deep in his belly and biting his lips doesn’t keep it at bay, never keeps it at bay. 

And when the door opens, not expecting anyone else to come in for off-shift, he’s sitting up and sighting, sidearm steady in his hands, before having the time to think.

The silhouette is familiar—for an instant he thinks it’s Fives but the hair is shaved close and the steps are slower and Fives is dead. 

Rex steps in and lets the door close behind him and stands there, the barracks silent and dark. 

Nothing moves and nothing is—

Rex doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge Kix still having his sidearm trained on him and takes one of the four empty bunks Kix has in his sight. He just takes paldron and kama and upper armor off with mechanical gestures and lies down and there’s just enough light to see the tension in his shoulders, even the one he’d been shot through what seems years ago. He doesn’t look at anyone that Kix can see. Kix can’t see if he has even closed his eyes. 

There’s only the tension. There’s only the tension and Rex’s _here_ , with his brothers, like he should be.

So Kix lies down too, put the sidearm back where it came from, and turns, so he’s not staring at the ceiling but keeping an eye on his brother. It’s not a return to the normal march of things, it’s too late for that, but the ball of worry concentrating in anger inside him flutters out for the night. 

Rex’s _here_. 


End file.
